


Fire and Gunpowder

by casperlounds



Category: Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casperlounds/pseuds/casperlounds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been three months since Diego Santiago left Washington Heights with Javy and Ana, unscathed. Nevada Ramirez is still trying to deal with the repercussions of their leaving unharmed, when his brother-in-law tells him that the Calandra crime family's new boss (a beautiful and dangerous woman called Alegra) wants to renegotiate a deal that had fallen through between them and her father. </p>
<p>What starts out as general dislike between Nevada and Alegra turns into lust and the formation of a strong business partnership. However, they may not be able to keep their control and Nevada may be in-over-his-head with this woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Italians

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that my Spanish is fairly non-existent (I have friends helping me out with that, but feel free to help me correct any mistakes) and that my Italian is rusty. Also, since Nevada's brother-in-law was never given a name in the movie, I gave him one so that I didn't have to keep calling him "Nevada's brother-in-law." His name in this is Arturo Delgado. I also gave a name to Nevada's henchman that we see the most (the guy who went into the bodega with him) for the same reason. His name is Julio.
> 
> I'm going to try to post at least one chapter a week, though I'd like to post at least two. But I'm realistic haha. I also won't post notes very frequently.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this <3

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘tomorrow,’ you little shit?”

A henchman’s ham-sized fist connected with the indebted’s stomach.

Nevada had been doing a lot of cleanup after Diego Santiago left town with his brother, unharmed. It was not that anyone thought that he was less dangerous. It was simply his way of driving the point home. He had been much more forceful in his collections than usual. It was also much more fun that way.

It had been three months since the incident with the kids and the money, and business had been back to normal. In fact, things were running smoother due to the fear that Nevada would snap. But as much fun as it was to put the fear of God into a person, he was starting to almost wish that things would liven up again.

“I-- I don’t-- have it, N-- Nevada. I w-- w-- will in the m-- morning,” the man managed to say, coughing up blood.

Nevada took his gun from out of his belt. The man’s eyes went wide and he began to beg for his life. Nevada yelled at him to shut up, and pistol whipped him three times.

“You have until 9 tonight to get it to me. _¿Lo entiendes?_ After that, you’re going to start having some unfortunate accidents. You get what I’m saying?”

The man nodded, blood spilling from his fresh wounds.

Nevada turned away and looked at his phone, which had just buzzed, having received a text from his brother-in-law, Arturo, stating nothing but the importance of calling him ASAP. “OK, we gotta go. Leave this piece of shit to think about things.” He kicked him as he walked away.

Back in the black Escalade, he called Arturo. “This better be good. I’m not having a good day.”

“The Italians want to meet with us again,” Arturo said. When Nevada did not respond, Arturo continued. “The old man died last week. His kid took over. Guy on the phone said she wants to make the rounds and see if there was anything worth salvaging from her father’s old deals.”

“Wait... ‘ _She_?’ And we never reached a deal. What is there to salvage?”

“Yeah. ‘She.’ And that’s what the guy said. She wants to try again.”

Nevada Ramirez was one of the most dangerous men in New York, and had been for years. However, whereas his stomping ground was Washington Heights, the Calandra crime family had territories throughout the _entire_ city. Just about anything they wanted, it was theirs. Furthermore, the Calandras had been around since long before Nevada was even born. They were a force that most people in their business (and outside of their business, for that matter), feared. Nevada was not one of these people. However, he was interested in what this new boss wanted. Extra backup from the Calandras was tantamount to immunity.

“What did you tell them?”

“We’re meeting at the club. Tomorrow night at 8.”

He hung up, and took a tissue from his pocket. He wiped the blood of the man that he had kicked off of his expensive leather shoes. “¡ _Mierda_!” he said.

 

Nevada arrived at the club at 7:45 the following night. He wore his usual black pants and shoes, with a red button down under his black leather jacket. Most of the buttons on the shirt were undone, showing some chest hair and his cross necklace. Beneath the shirt was a black tank top.

He climbed the stairs and passed a small bar. This was the VIP area which led to his and Arturo’s offices. At the bar sat a woman with dark hair and eyes, offset by her light skin. She was definitely not Dominican. She wore a black cocktail dress, which ended just above her knees. Her shoes were Louboutins, and her lipstick matched the red underside of the heels. Her eyeshadow was a smokey, charcoal grey and her nails were painted black. Her earrings were diamond studs, and her necklace was a diamond choker. 

As she took a sip of her white wine, she looked in his direction and they locked eyes. Nevada briefly fantasized about bending her over a barstool and fucking her. When a man joined her at the bar, wearing a grey suit and tie with a black shirt and short-cropped hair, he smirked as he turned away and headed to his office. He could still make her want him, no matter if she was with someone or not.

Nevada sat at his desk for about ten minutes before Julio, the large henchman who was always at his side, came in and told him that Arturo was ready.

“Right on time.”

“They’ve been here a while, Nevada.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me until now?”

Arturo was sitting behind his desk when Nevada walked in with Julio. Nevada leaned against the wall at Arturo’s side and Julio stood a couple of feet away from him. Nevada’s other two henchmen let the man and woman from the bar inside the office. Nevada smiled to himself. He had fantasized about fucking a crime boss and he found that amusing. 

“This is Alegra Mariella Calandra,” said the man, introducing the woman at his side. “She is the new head of the Calandra Family. I’m her right-hand-man, Vincent Valario.”

“Please, sit down,” Arturo said, motioning with his hand to the two seats in front of his desk. Nevada motioned for Julio to grab him a chair, which he did. Nevada sat next to his brother-in-law and looked Alegra in the eye with a smirk. She gave him a nod and looked at Arturo.

“So, why did you want to meet with us, Ms. Calandra?” Arturo asked. Then he held his hand up. “How rude of me! Would either of you like a drink?” They both declined.

“My father attempted to make a deal with you a few years ago. As Vincent said to you on the phone, I’m looking through some of his past dealings to see if he overlooked anything worthwhile,” Alegra said. She crossed her legs and Nevada’s eyes darted down to look at them for a moment.

“We never reached a deal, Ms. Calandra, because your father wanted almost half of our   take and half of our stash,” Arturo said. She smiled at him and exhaled in amusement.

“I am not my father, Mr. Delgado. I don’t share some of his ideas on certain aspects of the business. For example, I believe that you get more flies with honey. Wouldn’t you agree?” Nevada laughed and she looked at him. “Is something funny, Mr. Ramirez?”

“No, no, no. It’s just that, I’m wondering, is that why you’re trying to figure out who’s stealing from you? I heard that someone’s been taking money and you don’t know who. You sure you’re cut out for this, _cariño_?”

Vincent’s fists clenched against his armrests. Alegra’s nostrils flared momentarily, but then she smiled at him. “It was just a dumb fuck who was trying to see what he could get away with now that there’s new management. But we found him out and we’re handling the situation. And this guy isn’t going to just ride off into the sunset, scott free.”

It was Nevada’s turn to be irked. He was still sore about the Diego and Javy situation, despite the amount of time that had passed. “You see, that’s the problem with you Italians. You think you’re better than everyone.”

Alegra laughed and leaned back in her chair. “No. No, we don’t. At least, _I_ don’t. I don’t harbor any delusions that I’m better than anyone. We’re all on a pretty even keel in this room, I’d say.” She paused, as though deep in thought, then added, “Then again, _we_ don’t throw children onto train tracks. But, well, who’s keeping score? Hm?”

Nevada glared at her. She infuriated him. Nobody spoke to him like that. And yet, somehow, it made her more sexy to him. Now, he leaned back in his chair and Julio stepped next to Alegra’s chair. She and Vincent turned to face him and Vincent stood. Nevada’s other henchmen reached for their guns, but Arturo waved them off.

“You wanna take a step back before you hurt yourself, pudgy?” Alegra said.

“Back away, Julio,” Nevada said, and Julio stepped back to his spot. Vincent remained standing, his eyes not leaving Julio.

Arturo stood and looked at Vincent, then to Alegra. “I don’t think we can reach a deal at this time, Ms. Calandra. Perhaps it is best if you go.” Alegra nodded and got to her feet. However, she leaned forward on the desk and stared Nevada down.

“The tides are turning, Mr. Ramirez. Especially after that stunt you pulled. You need a powerful ally more than ever. You have a few goons. I have an entire fucking army at my disposal. You think you have Washington Heights. The whole of New York City is my playground. So, because you get more flies with honey, I’ll let you two reconsider. Out of the kindness of my heart. I strongly suggest that you think about it because I won’t be so courteous again.”

She stood straight and was followed out by Vincent. Once they were gone, Arturo turned to Nevada and cursed in Spanish before asking him what the fuck his problem was. He shook his head. “Fucking Italians,” was all he said.

“Yo, Nevada, what do you think she meant by, ‘the tides are turning?’” asked one of the henchmen.

“Shit’s gonna get harder for us,” he replied.

 


	2. A Show of Good Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments, guys! I really appreciate it.

Every day of the week-and-a-half that passed since the meeting with Alegra, Nevada thought of two things. Firstly, he thought about Alegra’s cleavage as she leaned forward to warn him. Secondly, he thought about how she had no clue of what she had been talking about. Things seemed to be getting easier for them.

The shipment of cocaine that they were waiting on came in earlier than expected, days earlier, and the dealers were good to go. They were ahead of schedule and in better shape business-wise than they had been in months. However, the night that Nevada met with his dealers to divvy up the supply, things did, in fact, turn to shit.

Nevada arrived fifteen minutes after he had told the dealers to be there. They were in a storage unit not too far from where their former unit —the one that Javy and Robbie blew up— had been, and when Nevada stepped out of the Escalade, everyone acted like they were his old friends. On the surface, he reciprocated their friendship. On the inside, however, these people were nothing to him. Just leeches. And they disgusted him.

“OK,” he said, taking a switchblade from his pocket and walking toward a large crate in the center of the room, “this is just one of five crates.” The dealers made appreciative noises. Julio took a crowbar and opened the crate to reveal many bags of white powder all kept together with a lot of cellophane wrapping.

Nevada had only just sunk the knife into the wrapping when the sirens blared and the cop cars swarmed the storage unit. Officers in tactical gear that were armed-to-the-teeth were yelling at everyone, in English and Spanish, to put their hands behind their heads and drop to their knees. He left the knife protruding out of the wrapping as he complied, cursing under his breath in Spanish. Within minutes, he was handcuffed and sitting in the back of a police car.

Nevada hit his head against the back of the seat, trying to figure out how to get out of this one. This time, they had him dead-to-rights. He was not only in the same room as the product, but it was he, himself, who had held the knife to retrieve the bags. There was no way to cleverly explain this one away. So he sat, stewing in anger, wondering how the cops could have known about the meeting. As he did so, he stared at the commotion outside of the window, waiting for his turn to speak to the police. It was then that he noticed that the officer in charge of the raid was standing only a few feet away from the car that he was sitting in. The officer was on the phone and he did _not_ look happy. He held the phone to his shoulder, and Nevada heard him yelling something at his team, though it was quick and furious, so Nevada could not quite make out what he had said. He understood a moment later, though, when some of his men were being taken out of their restraints.

The commanding officer stomped over to the car that Nevada was in next. He threw the phone onto his lap and forcefully removed Nevada’s cuffs.

“It’s for you,” the officer spat, motioning with his head toward the phone.

Nevada rubbed his wrists, making a show of how much it had hurt (it really didn’t) and said, “You should be more careful.” He picked up the phone, which had fallen onto the floor of the car when the officer yanked at his arm to set him free, and looked at it quizzically before putting it to his ear.

“This is Nevada,” he said.

“Consider this a favor, Mr. Ramirez. A big one. And now you owe me.” Alegra’s tone was even and almost matter-of-fact.

Nevada’s nostrils flared. He saw red. “Did you call the cops? Did you set this whole thing up?”

“I’m not a rat, Mr. Ramirez. Not now, not ever. Back to that favor you owe me: there’s a driving range in New Jersey that I’ve rented for practice. I’ll be there tomorrow morning. So will you. Vincent will give you the details. Don’t be late.”

He began to curse at her and tell her what a bitch she was, but he soon realized that it was no good. She had already hung up. He looked at the phone and said, “How am I supposed to get the details if you hang up, you dumb fuck?”

He got out of the car and took a look. Only two of the eight dealers that were there had been let go. The rest were still under arrest and were being taken to jail. Mercifully, Julio was also let loose, so Nevada did not have to drive home, himself, with the mounting headache that was washing over him.

He sat in the back of his Escalade and said, “Just fucking drive,” to Julio. His tone was almost threatening. As they pulled out of the lot, his phone buzzed. When he looked at the screen, one of his men had sent him a text stating that “that Italian guy called,” and listing the information.

“ _Mierda_ ,” he said in an exhausted huff.

 

The driving range had four floors which overlooked a large lawn where the balls were hit. Alegra and her men were on the second floor. She glanced at her watch, then readied herself for her shot. She looked out at the golf cart on the lawn, her target, and swung.

“You’re not following through on your swing,” Vincent said, looking at Alegra over the book he was reading. He was laying on a bench, propped up on the armrest facing where Alegra was practicing.

Alegra groaned. She spun around and looked at her friend, almost hitting the teenager that set up her golf balls in the process. “Do _you_ want to do this, Vinnie? Instead of just making comments?”

He chuckled and looked back at his book. “Nope. I’m good.”

She shrugged him off and turned back to the ball that the kid had just placed. Again, she looked at her watch. Vincent had told Nevada to be there by 11. It was three minutes till.

She swung her club and the ball did not come close to the cart. “God dammit!” she yelled.

“Follow through!” Vincent said in a singsong voice.

The two of them looked over by the entrance when they saw Alegra’s two guards move to block someone from getting through. She saw that it was Nevada and told the men to stand down. Then she dismissed the teen, giving him a hundred dollar bill, and told him to get lost for fifteen minutes. He nodded enthusiastically, but his smile faded when she added, “Kid, don’t eavesdrop.” He nodded again, then sprinted toward the door.

After the kid was out of sight, Alegra’s men patted Nevada down and gave her the signal that he was unarmed. They moved out of the way and Nevada walked slowly toward Alegra. She motioned toward the two guards and said, “Mr. Ramirez, this is John Masi and Dave Rizzo. Vincent you’ve met.” John Masi had lighter hair than Dave Rizzo, but the two of them were roughly the same height and build. Nevada turned his head to look at them for a second before turning back to Alegra.

“I, uh, didn’t take you for a golfer,” he said, pointing at her club.

“I’m not, Mr. Ramirez,” she answered. He looked at her curiously and she smiled. “Remember that _problem_ I’m handling? It deserves my utmost attention. So I’m practicing my swing.” She gripped the club a little tighter and bit her lower lip with a grin. It was then that Nevada remembered the man that Alegra had in custody. He couldn’t help the smirk he gave her in response.

Nevada marveled in his head how different Alegra looked today. She wore pale pink shorts which ended halfway up her thighs (dear _God_ did she have nice legs), a white polo, white sneakers, white leather gloves, and black designer shades. Her hair was up in a ponytail through a green visor. Her makeup, if she was wearing any, was also very light. She also seemed shorter, only about 5”3, than she had when he first met her. Then he remembered that she had been wearing heels then. The woman standing before him was a stark contrast to the vixen in the black dress and diamonds he saw only about two weeks before.

“What is this about?” he asked.  

She gave him a soft smile peppered with amusement, planting the head of her club on the ground and resting her hands, one over the other, on the end of the grip. “That’s no way to say ‘thank you,‘ Mr. Ramirez.” She grinned at the sarcastic smile he wore. “Wait, where’s that pudgy guy? Isn’t he always with you?”

It took him a moment, but he realized that she was referring to Julio. “He’s waiting in the car downstairs.”

She started laughing as though he had said the funniest thing she had ever heard. She turned her head and pointed her club toward Vincent, who was chuckling, himself. “You owe me five bucks. I told you they would know.” She turned back to Nevada and placed the club’s head back where it had been on the floor. “I couldn’t remember what you called him the night we met, so I just told the cops to release you and the ‘pudgy guy.’ Along with one or two of your dealers. As a show of good faith.”

Nevada’s eyebrows narrowed and he rubbed his nose in irritation. He sniffed hard and then nodded. “Yeah, I’m curious how the fuck you knew that was going down.”

She sighed, exasperated. “You’re not accusing me of being a rat again, are you? I told you last night; I’m not the type.”

“Then how?”

“I have the right people in my pocket, Mr. Ramirez. How do you think I knew that there was going to be a crackdown on this kind of thing? Hm? I warned you, remember? _So_ , I spoke to some people and told them that in the event that anything went down in Washington Heights, specifically having to do with _Trujillo_ ,” her pronunciation was perfect, “to let me know on the spot. And as for last night’s raid, from what I heard, one of your men is a loudmouth. Talked too much in the wrong places around the wrong people. That’s how the cops knew. I would have let you know not to show up, but I was only informed as it was going down last night.”

Nevada had local law enforcement under his belt, but this raid had definitely come from the word of someone much higher up the food chain. Who did Alegra know? The Commissioner? This idea seemed likely to him. 

He took another two steps toward her. His expression was still stern. “OK, but why?”

She shrugged. “As I said, it was a show of good faith.” She took the club back in her hands and placed a ball from the bucket next to her on the ground. She situated it in place with the head and set herself up to take a shot. “You know, your brother-in-law said that my father wanted half of everything. I was willing to take fifteen percent.” She swung, following through with her shot this time, and nearly hit the cart on the lawn.

“See?” Vincent said from his seat, nose still in his book. Alegra ignored him.

Nevada huffed with an amused smile. “Fifteen percent? Why were you willing to drop thirty-five percent less than your father’s offer?” He was skeptical.

She set up another ball. “Well, it would have been fifteen to start with. But I wouldn’t have gone past twenty. You’d also have been able to keep the entirety of your supply. I wasn’t interested in that. And the reason is that you have something that I find more valuable, Mr. Ramirez.” She swung and only missed the cart by an inch.

“And what is that?”

She took her sunglasses off and locked eyes with him. “A fucking brain, Mr. Ramirez. You may be ruthless, but you’re a damn good businessman and you have a brain. Which is _way_ more than I can say for the assholes I usually deal with. No smarts and no common sense. To be honest, it’s irritating. I want the Heights, yeah... It’s one of the only areas I don’t have much pull in. But, more than that, I need a smart friend there from which I can receive help if the need should arise.” She put her sunglasses back on and smiled at him. “And that brings us to the favor you owe me, Mr. Ramirez.”

Alegra let the club slip from her hands and onto the floor. She walked closer to Nevada and stood in front of him, folding her arms.

“During a preliminary interrogation of the fuck we have in custody, he let slip that there were other people involved. We figured —I mean, the guy’s an idiot— but he confirmed. Wouldn’t give us any names but one.” 

She pulled a picture from her pocket and handed it to Nevada, who took a good look at it. It was a picture of a man who seemed familiar to him somehow, though he could not place why. Alegra continued. “That’s Joe-Joe Alfino. According to the guy in our _care_ , Joe-Joe ran off to your turf around the time that we caught _him_. He was banking on your lack of cooperation and enthusiasm in our negotiations. He thought that if things went to pot, you would hate us and keep him from us out of spite. I want him back.” Nevada went to give the picture back, but Alegra shook her head. “Keep it so you know who to look for.”

Nevada thought to protest, but fair was fair. He could have been in a lot of legal trouble if not for this woman. He owed her something.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him around before. He looks familiar,” he said, putting the picture in his own pocket.

“Good. Now, I won’t necessarily give you a deadline, but I would like this taken care of within the next couple of days. Agreed?” she put her hand out for a handshake.

“Agreed,” he said, and shook her hand.

The two parted ways and Nevada was silent during the car ride home. He found himself wondering whether a deal with the Calandras might be a good idea, after all?


	3. Something Else is Going On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Blood, Gore, Torture

Alegra watched as Nevada left. She had found him attractive in their first encounter —even if he had made her want to shoot him— but there was something different about him today. He was not as well put together as usual. He was a bit scruffy, in fact. Alegra figured it was due to his rough night. Either way, she thought that it made him look kind of sexy. 

She eyed him up-and-down when he turned and made his way to the door, her eyes lingering for a second longer on his ass. She smirked to herself in admiration, then turned to look back out on the lawn at the golf cart. As soon as the door closed behind Nevada, Alegra heard Vincent say, “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” she asked, turning to face him. She sincerely did not know what he was talking about.

“I saw you checking him out,” Vincent replied. Something in his voice connoted alarm. There was concern in his eyes, as well.

“I was _not_ checking him out.”

Vincent gave her a look which implied that he did not believe her at all. She ignored it and turned to face Masi and Rizzo. “Rizzo, can you go get the kid and bring him back? I wanna finish up and he’s probably too terrified to come back out here.” Rizzo chuckled and then went inside to bring the teen boy back out. Alegra sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was tired. The whole ordeal was frustrating her terribly. She had only been boss for nearly three weeks and there were already people brazen enough to challenge her. She was, however, a Calandra. She would not stand for it. 

“OK, Masi, how much money did these guys steal, again?”

“Two-hundred grand.”

“Alright. OK. That’s not terrible. That’s easy to recover from. And you know for certain that this ass-hat got the recording equipment?”

“Allie, we have surveillance images. We found a receipt when we went through his apartment. It was still in the bag with the store logo. We also found tapes of conversations in his underwear drawer. We’re sure.” Masi’s tone was reassuring.

“What’s the problem?” Vincent asked, sitting up and putting the book down on the bench beside him. Alegra just looked at him. Even with her sunglasses on, he could tell how she was looking at him. “Holy shit! Ramirez got to you! What he said at the meeting! You believe him?!”

Alegra had replayed his comment in her mind a bunch of times since the meeting. _“You sure you’re cut out for this,_ cariño _?”_ Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before. She knew her mettle, but the comment, and his smugness, pissed her off nonetheless.

She became disgruntled and snapped a bit more than she meant to. “I’m more than fucking cut out for this, Vinnie! I’m a fucking Calandra! I’m just pissed that this is happening right now.”

Masi leaned against the wall behind him and said, “This is actually a good thing, I think.” Alegra removed her sunglasses and gave him a puzzled look. “This is happening _now_ , and you’re going to squash it _now_. Nobody is going to fuck with you after you’re done,” he explained.

She laughed. “You’re always calculating, aren’t you?”

Rizzo reemerged with the boy and looked at the three of them. “Hey, guys! Look what I found!”

Alegra practiced for another half-hour. After she was finished, she gave the boy another two hundred dollars, and went off to the locker rooms. She showered and dressed herself in a pale yellow dress and matching sandals.

She left with the three men; Vincent at her side, Masi carrying her clubs and duffle bag, and Rizzo getting into the driver’s seat of her black Cadillac. She had hated the car when she first acquired it from her father, thinking it too cliché for a mobster’s daughter, but it had grown on her. Masi took the front passenger seat and Alegra and Vincent sat in the back.

The drive to the old factory in Connecticut was a long one. Her father had owned it and passed it down to her. On the surface, it was a normal, legitimate textile factory. Behind the scenes, however, it served as a place for the Calandra’s more unsavory business. That was where they were holding the man who had stolen from them. That was who they were going to visit.

When the four of them walked into the back, a very large (and empty) storage room, the thief was already tied up and on his knees in the middle of the room, surrounded by a bunch of Alegra’s men. They all said, “Hi, boss,” in near unison when they saw her. The thief was not as happy to see her.

“Please, boss, I can explain—” he began, but he was kicked by the man at his left. He was bloodied and bruised from numerous beatings. His lip was split and his right eye was bruised and swollen. His left shoulder looked like it might have been dislocated and the way he was leaning suggested that at least one of his ribs was badly bruised, if not broken.

Alegra walked up to him, stopping about six feet away. “Phil... Philly-Phil-Phil... How the _FUCK_ can you explain recording conversations? Hm? I’m dying to know.”

His eye, the one that was not swollen, went wide. “I... It wasn’t me! Joe-Joe must’ve done it and planted the tapes on me! He’s the rat snitch, not me! I swear!”

“Oh? Did he also fuck with the security cameras at the electronics place where he got the equipment from?” She took a photo out of her bra and handed it to one of her men who held it so that Phil could see it. It was a surveillance photo which clearly showed him, not Joe-Joe, buying the equipment used to secretly record meetings between she, her father, and a few of her father’s men. Phil’s only response was to look up at her, defeat in his face. It repulsed her. She turned her head slightly toward Vincent, though never breaking eye contact with Phil, and said, “Get Luigi.”

“Wait! No! No more! Please! Nonononono!” Phil shrieked and began sobbing.

“Tell me the whole truth, then,” Alegra said. Phil just hung his head.

The beating he suffered, courtesy of Alegra and Luigi, lasted ten minutes before it looked like Phil was going to pass out. She had one of her men hold his head up by the hair to look at her as she leaned downward to stare him in the eye. His face dripped blood and he was barely able to keep his eyes open.

“You know, if you had only stolen the money, I would have just broken your legs and made you pay it back. But this? This was personal. It goes beyond disrespect. You’re a traitor. You betrayed me. You betrayed my father. You betrayed everyone in this room. And if you think, for one second, that I don’t see that something else is going on, you’re an even bigger moron than I thought. My dad’s death came conveniently around the same time that you did this. Way too conveniently. It’s taking everything in me not to put a fucking bullet between your eyes right now. But, no. Uh-uh. That’s too good for you. I have bigger plans for you and Joe-Joe.”

 

During his ride back home, Nevada received a call from Arturo. Arturo was very kurt and said he wanted to see Nevada right away. When Nevada hung up, he cursed at his phone in Spanish and decided to go home, anyway.

He was exhausted from the events of the day and the previous night. He just wanted to sleep. When he got home, he collapsed on his couch and slept for three hours. He was awoken by another phone call from Arturo.

“ _¿Dónde estás?_ ” Arturo was clearly angry.

“ _Veniendo_ ,” Nevada growled.

Nevada, Julio, and the rest of his men piled into his Escalade and drove over to the club. Arturo was not happy to see him. He was standing behind his desk and his eyes were shooting daggers.

“Nevada, what the fuck happened last night?!” Arturo asked this the very second that Nevada walked through the door.

“One of my boys talks too much. I’ll deal with it.”

“ _¿Y este mañana?_ ” His eyebrows furrowed. “What did the Italian want?”

Nevada sat in one of the seats in front of Arturo’s desk. “She helped me out last night and she wants me to return the favor. One of the idiots that stole from her is here and she wants me to catch him for her.”

Arturo sat down. “Since when are the two of you friends?”

“Since she kept my ass out of a jail cell, Arturo. And, I don’t know, maybe we should try negotiating again. She’s not the old man.”

Arturo eyed Nevada carefully. “You want to fuck her?”

Nevada laughed. “If you weren’t married to my sister, wouldn’t you? She’s feisty, no?” Arturo shrugged and tilted his head in agreement. “But that has nothing to do with it,” Nevada continued, “I think she’s a good bet.”

 

Nevada sat in the VIP section of his club several days after the ordeal. He had called over a girl that he had seen dancing and brought her behind the velvet rope. She was his usual type; cinnamon toned skin, dark hair down to her ample rear, breasts like small watermelons, and full lips painted the same hot pink as her revealing dress. They had a drink together, and she began to give him a lap dance. He whispered into her ear everything that he wanted her to do, everything he wanted to do to her, if she wanted to come back to his place. He was just beginning to get hard as she licked his ear when Julio came over the rope and leaned into his other ear.

“Nevada, I think that guy the Italian bitch wanted you to find is here.”

He looked over at Julio, his focus snapping back into place very quickly once he processed what he had said. He pushed the girl off of him, who pouted, and said, “Which one?”

Julio pointed to a man sitting at the bar who was acting like he owned the place. A woman on each side of him, knocking drinks back, showboating his tacky jewelry. Nevada looked at the picture that Alegra had given him and triple checked it against the man’s face. “Bring him over,” Nevada said. As Julio left, motioning to one of Nevada’s other men to follow him, Nevada turned to the girl. “Get lost,” he said. She got up and grunted, cursing in Spanish as she stormed away. He was just as pissed as she was.

Julio and the other man brought Joe-Joe behind the velvet rope and sat him down on the couch facing Nevada. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy, pal,” Joe-Joe said.

“You know who I am?” Nevada asked. Joe-Joe turned his face from the henchmen to Nevada.

“Uh, yeah. You’re that Trujillo guy,” Joe-Joe said. His pronunciation was terrible. “Nevada Ramirez. You’re the big man on campus here.”

Nevada shifted in his seat. “That’s right. You know who I am, but I don’t know who you are. You come in to my neighborhood acting like you’re hot shit, and I start to wonder if you’re moving in on my business.”

Joe-Joe’s eyes went wide. “What? No. No, no, no, Nevada —I mean, Mr. Ramirez— I’m just a guy looking to have a good time.”

“OK, guy. What’s your name?”

“Joseph Alfino. You can call me Joe-Joe, sir.”

Nevada leaned back in his seat. “Hm. Joe-Joe. OK. Where are you from, Joe-Joe?”

“Brooklyn, but I’ve been in Manhattan for a couple of years. Well, now I’m here.”

Nevada rubbed his chin and grinned. “Manhattan? Then what are you doing here?”

Joe-Joe laughed, nervously. “Uh, I’m hiding from my old boss. You know the Calandras?”

Nevada huffed. “Yeah, I know them. They think they own everything. Got some fucking _woman_ running shit, now. You know they were here a couple of weeks ago? Tried to strong arm us.”

Joe-Joe laughed. “Yeah, Alegra. In over her head, that dumb broad. I knew they wanted to talk to you guys. Figured they’d pull that shit. That’s why I’m here.”

Nevada nodded. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. So, uh, you want a job?”

Joe-Joe agreed to go for a car ride with Nevada, who did not want to make a scene in his club. He kept Joe-Joe talking as they drove to the location that Vincent texted him after he had Julio contact them with the news that they had Joe-Joe. It wasn’t until they parked outside the warehouse that Joe-Joe realized what was going on.

He pleaded and yelled for help as two of Nevada’s thugs pulled him out of the car, dragging him toward the door. He screamed even louder when he saw Alegra and Vincent waiting for him, Rizzo and Masi standing behind them.

“Ms. Calandra, please! I’m sorry! I can explain!” he screamed as he was dragged past them. Alegra merely gave him a passing glance, disgust and anger evident in her face, before her features softened into a smile as she walked over to Nevada.

“You’re late,” she said, stopping right in front of him. Julio took a protective step closer to Nevada. Alegra gave him an “are you kidding” sort of look, then shifted her focus back to Nevada.

“You said you weren’t giving me a deadline,” Nevada said, returning the smile.

“You’re right. Either way, I have to say, I _am_ impressed. How did you manage this?”

“He walked into my nightclub,” Nevada answered. Alegra laughed. “Are you less impressed?” He was still smiling.

She shook her head, still smiling, herself. “Thank you, Mr. Ramirez. Would you do me one more, small favor?”

He raised his eyebrows. “That means _you’ll_ owe _me_.”

“Not for this, I won’t. I just want you to reconsider negotiations with me. And discuss that with your brother-in-law.”

Nevada shrugged. “I’ll think about it,” he said, walking away and grinning. Julio followed and the two men who had brought Joe-Joe into the warehouse exited and got into the car. Alegra watched as they drove off and then she swiftly turned about-face and went into the warehouse.

Joe-Joe was already tied up, hands above his head, looking terrified. Although he had a gag tied around his mouth, he was still trying to speak.

“OK, Joe-Joe,” she began, walking up to him with Vincent and the other two men in toe, “I’ll make this simple. You tell me the truth, and tell me right away, and this doesn’t have to be more painful than is really necessary, _capisci_?” He nodded enthusiastically. She motioned to one of her men to remove the gag from Joe-Joe’s mouth. He began to plead his case immediately and she had the gag put back in. “Be silent until I ask you a question. Got it?” Again, he nodded and again the gag was taken out. She steadied her breath and asked, “What were you and Phil going to do with the recordings?”

“We weren’t sure. We were thinking about using them as blackmail. Maybe just give them to the police.”

“OK. Was anyone else involved?”

“No,” Joe-Joe replied. His voice shook slightly.

“Oh, Joe-Joe... Not you, too,” Alegra said. She took a pair of latex gloves out of her handbag and put them on. Then she held out her hand and Masi gave her a gun. She clicked the hammer back and pointed the gun at his left kneecap. 

“WHOA! Hold up! Hold the fuck up! I’m telling you the truth, Ms. Calandra, I swear!”

“I’ll ask again. Was anyone else involved?” Alegra cocked her head to the side. Joe-Joe closed his eyes and scrunched his face, shaking his head “no.” Alegra shot his kneecap.   

Joe-Joe let out a blood-curdling scream. “WHAT THE _FUCK_! SON OF A BITCH! ACK!”

“Since you won’t answer that question, which is an answer in-and-of itself, let me move onto the next one. My father didn’t really die of a heart attack, did he? He was poisoned?” Alegra’s voice was unnervingly calm.

“FUCK! Yeah, but it wasn’t me. I fucking swear! Phil slipped it in his espresso. I was there, I saw him do it.”

She handed the gun over to Vincent and removed her gloves. She handed the gloves to one of the men standing around Joe-Joe and gave him instructions to burn them. Then she turned to Vincent, walked up to him, and said,  “Kill him. Kill them both. The way my father killed that arms dealer. Tell the men what to do.” Vincent nodded. 

Alegra walked out to her car, escorted by Masi and Rizzo. “I hope you’re right, Masi,” she said, suddenly.

“About what?” he asked.

“About nobody fucking with me after this. Because I don’t know how I can do worse than what these two are getting.”

 


End file.
